


trust your heart if the seas catch fire

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Coda, Light Angst, M/M, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey's not going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trust your heart if the seas catch fire

**Author's Note:**

> requested by **anon** as part of the [angst prompt meme](http://distractedpainter.tumblr.com/post/82169288531/another-angsty-starters-meme) on tumblr ("You don’t have to stay.")

Ian finally lets Fiona come and talk to him. She tells the rest of them to wait outside the door, so Mickey ushers his sister and Ian’s siblings into the living room. They look out of place on the worn-out sofa, they don’t belong in this shithole of a house.

 _More Gallaghers for you to ruin_ , a traitorous part of his brain says, the part that wouldn’t shut up while Ian was away, and all Mickey could do was mope and drink and pretend that Ian never meant anything to him. Except, Mickey doesn’t let that part bruise him, this time. He has to help Ian, and dwelling on Mickey’s fuck-ups won’t do him any good.

 _I didn’t ruin him_ , Mickey fights back,  _I’ll make sure he gets better._

Mickey’s eyes wander over to Carl and Debbie. They look just as scared and helpless as they did on the first day Ian wouldn’t get out of bed. He remembers the first time he realized he couldn’t beat up everything that hurt Mandy, there were some things he couldn’t fix with his fists, they were too close, too deep, and Mickey was powerless.

This whole fucking thing started with Mickey trying to defend Mandy.  _Christ_. He doesn’t know how it got so fucking complicated. Ian burst into his life with a splash of color, those stupid freckles and that boyish smile, and Mickey forgot how to look back.

Mickey takes a seat next to Debbie and tips his head back against the couch. She’s looking down at her lap, at her fingers twisting nervously through each other, and Mickey stills them with a touch. It reminds him so much of Ian, he does the same fucking thing, and Mickey always instinctively reaches out to calm him. His sister is no different. Debbie looks over at him, her eyes soft, telling him that she gets it, she understands, and Mickey nods.

“Carl,” she says over Mickey’s head. “Get your coat. It’s time for school,” and then they’re telling Mickey they’ll be back after school and Debbie runs into the kitchen to say goodbye to Svetlana, and Mickey’s suddenly alone in the room.

He lies all the way down on the couch, pressing his face into the cushions and takes a few deep breaths against the fabric. He smells like Ian, he’s wearing Ian’s fucking hoodie, and it’s warm. Mickey knows Ian’s arms around him would be warmer, he finds himself imagining that, wanting that, for one dangerous second. It’s stupid, because Mickey knows how dangerous wishing for that shit can be. He thought about it all the time after Ian left, he pulled his arms close around himself in his miserable and empty bed, and he could convince himself for a moment that Ian was next to him, before reality crashed over him and he felt even colder than before.

Fiona walks into the living room and Mickey scrambles to sit up. Her smile is tight and her face pale. Mickey doesn’t know much about her, but he figures she’s one of those people that can smile through anything, the ones who put on a brave face no matter how shitty it gets. He admires her for it.

“How is he?” Mickey asks, tugging on the frayed strings of Ian’s hoodie.

Fiona shrugs. “Got him to take some meds. He’s not talking much, but hopefully that’ll help to stabilize him. Said he wanted to see you. And for me to tell you that he’s sorry.”

Mickey nods, and he feels a rush of anger ripple through his veins. Ian has nothing to be fuckin’ sorry for, and the fact that he thinks he does make something inside Mickey white-hot with rage. Luckily, his brain doesn’t try to trick him into thinking it’s his fault, again. He’s not even sure who he’s angry at, he just is.

“Thanks,” he says. “For helping. And letting him stay here.”

“Looks like you’re family now.” Fiona’s smile is more genuine. “Better get used to it.”

“Okay, okay,” Mickey replies, grouchily, because he can only handle so much of this kumbaya bullshit. “Enough with the fucking sparkles and shit. Go hug a tree or something.”

Fiona smiles a bit wider. “Bye Mickey,” she laughs, grabbing her coat and heading out the door.

\---

“Don’t fucking apologize to me,” is the first thing out of Mickey’s mouth when he steps into their room. “It’s not your goddamn fault.”

Ian stays quiet. He’s lying in the middle of the bed, looking up at Mickey in the doorway. Mickey doesn’t miss the look of almost-relief that washes over his face.

Mickey walks over to the bed and looks Ian in the eye. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Okay,” Ian says, his voice small, and that scares Mickey the most, because nothing about Ian is small. Ian’s the biggest and most important thing that’s ever happened to him, and he takes up a space inside Mickey’s chest the size of fucking Texas ( _That’s a good metaphor,_  Mickey thinks.  _Maybe I should’ve stayed in school, killed at that English shit a little bit_ ).

“How you feeling, man?” Mickey asks.

Ian shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

Mickey wants more, he wants details, but he figures that’s as good as he’s gonna get right now. He sits on the bed next to Ian, and he makes Mickey feel warm, even when they aren’t touching. His own personal furnace. Ian looks up at him, eyes shiny with unshed tears, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he says anything.

“You don’t have to stay,” Ian whispers, and suddenly, Mickey’s cold all over. “I can leave. I can go back to Fiona’s.”

“Ian.” Mickey ignores his heart cracking inside his chest, the way his voice breaks on Ian’s name. “If you think there’s any way I’m fucking leaving, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Oh.” Ian turns his face into the pillow.

“You’re goddamn Texas, dude.”

Ian looks up again, his face twisted in confusion. “What?”

Mickey laughs at himself for a second. He hadn’t meant to say that, but he has no filter around Ian sometimes. “Nevermind.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Ian mutters into the pillow. “Maybe I don’t want your weird ass around, anyways.”

Mickey crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t lie. You love my weird ass.”

Ian doesn’t quite smile, but he does chuck one of their pillows at Mickey’s head.  _It’s a start,_  Mickey thinks. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

“Fuckin’ better be,” Mickey says, and he grabs the pillow from where it landed in his lap and sets it back down on the bed. He swings his legs onto the mattress and lays down on the pillow. He doesn’t move to touch Ian, but he closes his eyes and listens to his even breathing as it calms down the rapid beats of his heart.

“I’m fucking staying,” he murmurs into the darkness, because he is.

**Author's Note:**

> [title](http://everpresentcoffee.tumblr.com/post/69341134387/trust-your-heart-if-the-seas-catch-fire-live-by) from an e.e. cummings poem


End file.
